All Hallows' Eve
by Jarlaxle Baenre
Summary: One fateful night...
1. Fear's Name

He was Darkness. He was Pain. He was Hatred, he was Suffering, he was Torture and Malice and Cold and Death. His name, a name which none dared utter, was ever-present in all minds, permeating even the most secure, comfortable corners that they thought were safe. He was never gone from their thoughts; even in sleep, they dreamed of his terror.

He rose up out of the obscurity of anonymity, rose like a towering thundercloud that splits the sky with its sharp flashes of blazing light. They followed him, some because they chose to, others because they _had_ no choice. Like the storm that follows the first mighty pinnacle of a looming cloud, they swept after him, destroying all that he did not deign to destroy. They thought him their friend, but he was aloof. They were pawns, bishops, rooks, and knights in a ghastly game of chess, and he was the grand master, caring for them only until he could use them for his own gain. They did his bidding without question, believing that he would act for them, not for him.

They killed on his orders, forced obeisance and deference, and all statutes of law crumpled before them, broken underfoot like shards of glass because no one dared try to enforce them for fear of retribution. Mothers hid their children before venturing out; fathers slept with their wands clutched tightly in their hands. It was a time of Darkness, of Pain, of Hatred, of Suffering, of Torture, of Malice, of Cold, and of Death.

But there were those who denied him…


	2. Rat

The hallway was dark and musty. It smelled of filth and rot and old, faded grandeur that had crumbled into dust. A thick, red carpet muffled all footsteps, but the occupant of the room at the end of the hall needed no noise to alert him to an approaching entity.

The man who walked along the hallway this night was thin and, though only in his early-twenties, he was beginning to bald. He wore thick-framed glasses and shabby robes. His hair was rather disheveled, and his face twisted, as though a battle were raging inside him.

_You know what you're about to do,_ _Peter,_ said one side of him. _You're about to kill your friend._

_Yes,_ retorted the other side, _and all the better. The Dark Lord is right in trying to purge the world of all the unclean scum who walk it. Besides, he's not my friend. He and Sirius treated me like scum when we were in school. I owe him no loyalty._

_And the Dark Lord treats you better?_

_Don't think that, _he hissed. _My own thoughts can betray me in the presence of the all-powerful Dark Lord._

He made you his Secret-Keeper. He wouldn't have done that if he hadn't seen a friend in you.

_He did it,_ he argued, _because he was afraid of Remus. He thought Remus was a spy for my Lord, and he thought that if he switched Secret-Keepers, then when Remus told the Dark Lord that Sirius knew the secret, he wouldn't be able to give it away. He thought I'd be too weak to join with my Master's forces._

_But you're the spy. _

_I'm proud of it,_ his other side snapped.

He had reached the end of the corridor.

"Enter."

The voice was bold, imperious, cunning, and powerful all at once. Despite its lazy drawl, it commanded respect and instilled a deep, pervading fear, from which he who was unfortunate enough to hear it would never escape. It would enter his darkest dreams and whisper malicious thoughts to him, it would haunt the empty and long-forgotten corridors of his mind forever, and it would always hang over his countenance like a foreboding rain cloud.

The young man in the corridor timidly cracked open the door.

"I said 'enter,' not 'stand there like a mindless idiot.'"

"Yes, Master," the man croaked hoarsely, and hurried into the room. He fell to his knees in front of a cloaked figure and kissed his feet. "Master," he whispered.

"Get up, you scum, and tell him what it is you came to tell him," said another voice.

The pockmarked man who had spoken stood in the shadows of the far corner. The young man glanced fearfully up at him and began, in a quavering voice, to deliver the news he bore.

"Master, they have done it at last. They have made me their Secret-Keeper."

The cloaked figure drew a sharp breath. "At last," he hissed. "The Potters have delivered themselves into my hands. Where are they, Wormtail?"

"They have hidden in Godric's Hollow. At the very end of Parker Street, just before the forest starts. They are there, my Lord."

"Yes…" the cloaked figure murmured. "You have done well, Wormtail. You shall be rewarded."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

The young man bowed himself out of the room. The hooded figure turned to the pockmarked man in the corner. "I take my leave, Rookwood. I shall return triumphant."

"Yes, Master. Of course."

With the swish of a cloak that sealed the Potters' doom, the hooded figure vanished.


	3. Painted Black

All it was now was shambles. Smoke billowed from the wreckage, drifting up to be lost in the night sky, obscuring the stars. The Muggles on either side of the house didn't know anything had happened, completely oblivious to everything.

Sirius Black fought back the tears as his flying motorcycle drew nearer to the village where his best friend lived. _It can't be,_ he thought hysterically, _no, they're still alive. Please, God, let them still be alive. _

How could he have done this? It was all his fault! He had thought Remus was the spy, as crazy as it seemed, but no...It had been on his advice that they had changed Secret-Keepers. Because of his blunder, James and Lily…

Okay, he wasn't about to take all the blame. At least a little bit of it lay with Peter.

_Peter._ Peter Pettigrew, traitor, liar, Death Eater. _Curse you, Peter, curse you. _

_And you, Sirius. How could you have let this happen?_

And now they were gone.

His last visit had been barely a week ago. He had lingered longer than he should have, but he couldn't resist. They had been talking, reminiscing about old times, discussing everything. Harry had toddled in, gurgling happily, getting right back up and trying again when he fell. They had been so happy together. They hadn't expected to die.

But they hadn't thought that they would be betrayed.

He was coming from Peter's house. He had gone to check on him, to make sure he was still safe. But Peter hadn't been there, and there had been no sign of a struggle. Sirius had known without being told what had happened. No, Remus had not been Voldemort's helper.

_How could you, Sirius, how could you?_

The trees around the house were too dense to get through, so he headed for the nearest street. His motorbike landed with a dull thud on the pavement. Leaping off of it, he ran as fast as his long legs would carry him through the trees to where the house was.

Or where the house had been.

A sob tore itself from his throat as he stopped short. "No," he muttered, "No, please, no!"

He lunged forward to the smoking remains of the Potter's home, and then halted. There was a giant, black figure emerging slowly from the wreckage, holding a little bundle. The bundle was screaming.

"Harry," he breathed. "He's alive."

He sprinted to where the giant stood, rocking the toddler, leaping over and around the debris.

There in the giant's arms was a baby: kicking, screaming, and twisting to get away, but very much alive.

Sirius looked up at the giant as he caressed the infant's face. Harry calmed at his touch. "Let me take him, Hagrid. Let me raise him. I'm his godfather." He gazed sadly at the gash in the shape of a lightning bolt across the baby's forehead. _How did he survive?_

Hagrid shook his tangled mane of black hair, tears leaking out of his eyes. "Nah, Sirius. No can do. Dumbledore said ter bring 'im, and I thin' Dumbledore knows wha's best."

Sirius gazed at him for several long moments, then backed down. "Aye. Dumbledore knows best." He was silent for a moment before he swallowed a lump in his throat and asked, "Lily, James…?"

Hagrid burst into sobs, making the tiny Harry start bawling again. Sirius tried to comfort him, but his heart sank. Hagrid's reaction had been answer enough.

They were dead, and now there was no denying it.

_Oh, Sirius, Sirius, what have you done?_

The tears were pouring openly down his face now. He kissed Harry on the brow, tasting the child's blood, and backed away. "Take my bike, Hagrid. You need it more than I do. It's parked on the street."

"Bu' you love that bike," Hagrid protested.

"Take it!" Sirius almost shouted, his voice breaking. "Take it, take it!"

The tears had broken into his voice and he was sobbing uncontrollably. He sank to the ground, his face in his hands, weeping openly. "Go, Hagrid. Take Harry to Dumbledore."

He didn't look at the giant as he left. A few minutes later, he heard the bike's engine roar. It soared away overhead, leaving silence in its wake.

_They're dead, Sirius, you fool, and it's all your fault. _

Sirius left Godric's Hollow then. He didn't want to see his friends' bodies. He couldn't see them. It would devastate him.

He needed somewhere to go. He had abandoned his parents years ago, and he didn't want to see Dumbledore now. He ran as far as he could, until dawn was beginning to break, before he collapsed in the midst of the trees.

It was late afternoon when he awoke. His clothes were torn in several places and his hair was full of pine needles and twigs. But he didn't care. He started walking. He didn't want to be with anyone.

But there was someone he had an obligation to tell.

Half an hour later, he was back in London, walking swiftly along the streets with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. Muggles walked past him, laughing and joking. How can they laugh after what's just happened?

_How could this have happened? Didn't you love them?_

He was almost to the home of Remus Lupin when something occurred to him.

Sirius had advised James and Lily to change Secret Keepers at the very last moment, from him to Peter, without telling anyone. The only way that Voldemort could have found them was if the Secret Keeper betrayed them. And everyone thought that he, Sirius Black, was their Secret Keeper.

_They'll think I betrayed them. They didn't know Peter was the Secret Keeper. Peter, you filthy, traitorous piece of vermin, how could you have done this?_

What about Remus? Would he believe his story?

Hesitantly, he knocked on the door of the apartment he had visited so many times. There was a shuffling inside, and the door cracked open.

Remus looked sick, even though it wasn't anywhere near the full moon. His eyes were red and his face tear-streaked.

His eyes registered first shock, then a cold, loathing anger. "Sirius," he said softly.

Without warning, Remus raised his wand and thick, heavy cords shot out of the tip and wrapped tightly around Sirius' body. Off balance, he fell hard to the ground, bruising his shoulder.

Remus stepped out over him. "What have you done, Sirius?"

_What have you done, Sirius?_

His eyes were full of grief and disbelieving. "I never suspected… it never even crossed my mind…" His voice was strained and hoarse, like he was on the verge of tears again.

"Please, Remus, I didn't, it wasn't—"

The cords tightened, and one found its way into Sirius' mouth, gagging him.

"You deserve worse than death for what you did, but I'm not the one to administer it. I'm going to go contact the Ministry."

Remus disappeared inside.

Remus must have really been emotionally unstable because not only had he left a suspected murderer unattended, but he had forgotten one of his former best friend's talents.

Sirius concentrated hard, and his body changed into that of a huge, black dog. Though he really wasn't any smaller than his usual self, his teeth were not exactly dull.

Three or four bites had him through the ropes that bound him. He remained a dog; dogs can run faster than any human.

He ran for two miles, perhaps, before he turned a corner and found himself at a dead end. He was about to turn around and continue his flight, but there was a loud _crack,_ and a short, balding man appeared before him.

Sirius changed back to a human and slowly righted himself, breathing hard, his wand out.

"Peter." _Peter, you traitor, you filthy, lying, hypocritical…_

"Hello, Sirius," he said, smiling slightly, his wand pointed straight at Sirius' chest.

Before Sirius had a chance to kill him, seven other wizards appeared in the entrance to the alleyway.

Peter's transition was perfect. His wand was back in his pocket, and began sobbing before Sirius could blink. "Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?"

Peter had his wand in his hand, but he fumbled it. Sirius was the only one who could see his self-satisfied smirk before he disappeared.

And before the alley blew up.

Sirius was knocked unconscious. He was informed later that the fire Peter had sent into the sidewalk had reached a gas line, which went out under the nearby street. Twelve Muggles were killed in the blast. Of course, everyone thought it had been him who had conjured the fire.

To him, the answer was glaringly obvious. Peter had blown up the street, and then he transformed into a rat, fleeing into the sewers afterward. To the Ministry, it looked like Sirius blown Peter into a million pieces, along with the street. He had been framed.

His hands were bound behind him when he came to his senses. His wand was gone; he could see it, lying snapped in half on the pavement about ten feet away. His head hurt like crazy.

"Sirius Black," came a voice from somewhere above him, "you are under arrest on thirteen counts of murder, affiliation with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the betrayal of Lily and James Potter, which led to their murders."

Once he had sorted out what had happened, Sirius began laughing. It was hysterical, insane laughter with an eerie quality to it.

_Oh, Peter you clever little rat. Or maybe you're just Lord Voldemort's tool. I wouldn't know. I've never served him._

He had no recollection of anything until he felt the Dementors. He was in a cell, in what he knew to be the wizarding prison of Azkaban from the moment he awoke. He couldn't see them, but he knew they were there. All the happiness had been sucked out of him, and he felt as though he was doomed to misery. He conjured up the image of the last time he had seen James, of his friend's laughing face, and muttered, "Expecto Patronum."

But he didn't have his wand. The playful dog that usually appeared wasn't there. He sank back against the cold, stone wall.

He was in the cell for three days before he was visited by a Ministry official. He came in bedecked in red robes, with a piece of official-looking parchment. He cleared his throat and began reading.

"You have been officially denied trial by Mr. Bartemius Crouch of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement because of the severity of your crimes and the proof that has previously been submitted. As a result, you have been sentenced to life in Azkaban Wizarding Prison. Let it be known to all that you are a convicted mass murderer and are therefore unsafe and mentally insecure."

The door closed, and the wizard was gone.

"Wait!" Sirius screamed, pounding on the door, "I want to talk to Dumbledore! Let me see Dumbledore!"

But the wizard didn't answer.

Sirius collapsed against the wall and sank to the floor. Life in Azkaban. His best friend was dead, and his other best friend thought that it was his fault.

_Sirius, what have you done?_

Twelve years is a long, long time…


	4. Crying Wolf

He had just gotten home when it happened.

It had been a long day. He had received a message that his job interview was cancelled and that he shouldn't bother to make a new appointment. The note had crushed him; he had allowed a tiny flame of home to kindle within him, and it only made it more painful to feel it go out.

Although he wasn't much older than twenty, the man looked as if he bore a burden greater than one of sixty. His face was pale and prematurely lined and his shoulders bowed slightly. Twenty long, hard years had taken their toll.

It was frigid outside, a blustery wind kicking up the dry leaves and rattling them around. Somewhere, a tower clock tolled ten times, marking two hours before midnight. As he ascended the steps to his shabby apartment, taking out his keys, he pulled his cloak tighter around him, shivering in the biting wind.

He flicked on the light with a wave of his wand and sank onto a musty sofa with his head in his hands. He picked up a book on the end table and turned it over in his hands thoughtfully. It was one of his favorites: Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. The Muggles might be a little slow when it comes to everything else, he thought, smiling slightly, but no one will ever overcome Jane Austen's prowess with the English language.

He had scarcely opened it, however, when a flash of silver light illuminated the room. In the brief second that it was there, he made out the gorgeous form of a phoenix.

What little color was in his face drained out of it.

"No," he whispered, laying the book aside as if in a dream. "No."

It couldn't be. Dumbledore had made a mistake. He had to have. Sirius would never have done something like that. Never betrayed his friends. Never. Never.

But Dumbledore didn't often make mistakes, either.

He put his hands over his face and moaned.

"James…" he muttered, his voice catching in his throat. "Lily, Harry… James."

The phoenix was the sign to be used only when the worst had happened. He knew Dumbledore wouldn't have sent it unless he was sure.

Like a caged animal, he got up and began to pace in agony. His instructions were to wait for a word from someone who knew what was going on, but how could he when his best friend was dead?

For that was what the phoenix meant. Lord Voldemort had found them. They had been betrayed.

_Sirius._

"Sirius, how could you?" he groaned in anguish. _How could you, you traitor, you backstabber, you filthy, lying bastard, how could you? He was your best friend. He trusted you with his life, with the lives of his wife and son and you betrayed him, you worm, you foul, lowlife little demon, how could you? And what for? For the most evil wizard in a millennia? For fame, for glory, for money? You would betray your friend for that?_

"Remus," said a familiar voice behind him.

He whirled around, his face ravaged with grief. Tears streaked his face and his hair was sticking up at odd angles. Someone had appeared silently in his apartment.

"Dumbledore," he muttered.

The man was old, but he radiated a vibrant power that dispelled any images of frailty and weakness. A long, silver beard reached to his midriff, and vivid eyes peered at him from beneath half-moon spectacles. The electric blue eyes were usually twinkling, but now they were filled only with sadness and irrepressible anger.

Remus could only whisper, "James?"

Dumbledore nodded his head slightly. It was the only acknowledgement that was needed.

An anguished sob tore itself from his throat. He tore at his hair and looked wildly around for something, anything, to break. His hands shook and his legs trembled. How could this have happened?

"No," he moaned, "no… not James…James, Lily, Harry…"

"Not Harry," he said softly.

Remus looked up sharply. "Not Harry?" he croaked. "How…?"

Dumbledore let out a long breath, and for the first time in the many years Remus had known him, he saw tears slide down from those radiant eyes and slip into his beard. "It was Lily," he said quietly. "When Voldemort killed her, she was trying to protect him. She could've saved herself, you know. Voldemort offered her a chance to move aside so he could kill her son, but she chose to stay. And her sacrifice for him provided him with some sort of protection. The spell rebounded."

"It—it rebounded?" he asked, astounded. "Then Voldemort…"

"Is dead. Or at least mostly so. I am not yet sure."

Remus sank onto the couch almost in shock. The man—if he could be called that—who had terrorized, murdered, tortured hundreds of people, leading a reign of terror that had the magical community shivering in its shoes with no way to fight it, was gone. But for Remus, the price paid to rid the world of him was too high. Far too high. The price had been his best friend.

Or at least, who had once been his best friend. On his last visit to Godric's Hollow, James had acted strangely cold towards him. He was at a loss to understand what he had done; when he tried to confront James about it, he had avoided the question, and then Lily had arrived home and he had been distracted. He couldn't fathom what had made James behave how he had. Nothing made sense.

"When?" he asked hoarsely, when he had regained his ability to speak.

"Late last night."

"Where's Harry?"

"Hagrid has gone to fetch him. He is fine. Probably a little shaken, and with a cut across his forehead as deep as the spell managed to penetrate, but he'll survive."

"How do you know all of this?" he asked weakly, looking up at Dumbledore.

The old wizard said only, "I have my sources."

Any other man, Remus would have questioned. But he would have trusted Dumbledore with his soul, and if Dumbledore didn't want to say where he had obtained the information, Remus knew there was a good reason for it. He was satisfied with that.

An idea suddenly occurred to him. "Professor," he said shakily, standing up and meeting the penetratingly blue eyes, "let me take Harry. I can raise him, he knows me, I can—"

But Dumbledore was shaking his head. "No, Remus, I can't allow that, for two reasons. First of all, you can hardly support yourself. It's not your fault, of course, but because of your condition, very few people are willing to give you a job. You couldn't raise a child. And secondly, the protection that Lily bestowed upon Harry will only continue to work as long as he can call home the place where his blood resides. Meaning the home of one of his relatives."

"James doesn't have any relatives," he said automatically.

"No, and it would be better if he had. But Lily has a sister with a son about Harry's age. He will live with them."

"_Muggles?_" Remus said, outraged. Not that he had a problem with Muggles—Lily was Muggle-born—but Muggles raising a _wizard?_ "They can't raise him! What'll they do when he starts exhibiting his magical powers but can't control them? They won't have any way to stop him. He could kill himself!"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "They will do fine, I assure you."

"But…" he objected, casting his mind around for an excuse. "He'll be the most famous wizard for the next fifty years, being the reason Voldemort is gone. The Muggles will have no inclination of that, and he will have very little idea who he really is!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Don't you think he's better off growing up away from all of that?"

Remus opened his mouth to argue back, but respect for Dumbledore stopped him. "I trust your judgment," he said, rather rebelliously.

"Thank you, Remus. Now, I need you to stay here, no matter what happens or how angry you are. Stay _here_. I want to be able to find you if I need to."

"Yes, Professor." The 'or how angry you are' clause had been added to stop him going after Sirius and ripping him limb from limb. Probably a good thing… for Sirius.

"Goodbye, Remus."

"Goodbye, Professor," he muttered.

And Dumbledore Disapparated, leaving him alone.

He sank back onto the couch, staring at nothing, his mind swimming in anguish. Slowly, softly, the tears began to fall. James, Lily… Sirius.

Sirius, I will kill you. Someday I will find you and I will tear your heart from your chest and make you watch its last beats. I will take your life just as you took James' life, just as you took Lily's life, just like you tried to take Harry's life. You will pay, you filthy, lying snake, you wretched, traitorous bastard. You will pay.

There was a soft knock on the door. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he stood and crossed the carpet to the door.

Outside stood Sirius Black, looking just as pitiful and wretched as he felt.

From deep inside him rose a cold, loathing fury that chilled his blood. "Sirius," he said softly. He raised his wand, breathing hard, and ropes shot out the end of it, wrapping themselves tightly around the black-haired man who stood in front of him. Losing his balance, Sirius toppled to the ground.

Slowly, Remus stepped out over him. "What have you done, Sirius?" he asked, voice breaking. His eyes were burning again. "I never suspected… it never even crossed my mind…" He was finding it difficult to speak past the lump in his throat.

"Please, Remus," Sirius said weakly, "I didn't, it wasn't—"

Remus sent a surge of power through his wand. The ropes twisted and pulled, and the end of one worked its way into Sirius' mouth, gagging him.

A torment was raging inside Remus' mind. He had every intention of killing the man on the spot. He tried—with most his heart, he urged the jet of green light to spill out of the end of his wand and kill Sirius with as little effort as Lily and James had been killed.

But the small part of his heart that was against it whispered, _You are not a killer._

His breath came in ragged gasps as he slowly lowered his wand.

"You deserve worse than death for what you did," he spat, "but I'm not the one to administer it. I'm going to go contact the Ministry."

He was about halfway to the small, age-worn owl that sat in the corner of his bedroom when he realized how stupid it was for him to have simply left Sirius sitting on his front porch. He was fully aware of his former friend's… unusual abilities. He dashed madly back to the front door, but it was too late. The ropes, chewed clean through by sharp teeth, lay useless before him, and Sirius was nowhere to be seen.

The world went gray. Moaning in anguish, Remus fell to his knees. He tore at his hair, kicked the sofa, screamed at the empty room before him, but nothing alleviated the agony that ate at his heart.

Several minutes calmed him, but it was not an accepting calm. He had no tears left; they had been burned away by the fire of rage.

"Someday, Sirius," he muttered, smiling a humorless, bitter, anguished smile, "you and I will meet again. And I will not hesitate then. I can wait, Sirius, I can wait ten, twenty, even a hundred years, but I will find you."

But twelve years was all it took.


	5. Thrice Denied

Thrice Denied

Lily Potter held her fifteen-month-old son on her lap, playing a game of patty-cake with him. He gurgled happily and clapped his hands along with her. Lily laughed, tickling him on the stomach. He writhed and squealed, delighted.

The living room was basking in the warm light of mid-afternoon. It was the warmest day they'd had in weeks; it was October, after all. Lily was curled on the couch, smiling with child-like joy at her son. She loved being a mother.

James watched from the doorway, smiling gently. Lily's hair was braided down her back, exactly like the first time he had seen her on the Hogwarts Express. She had grown up since that ride when they were eleven years old. She had hated him then. Her brilliant green eyes, which Harry had been so lucky to inherit, were shining with laughter.

James pulled out his wand and made a ball of light sweep across the floor. Intrigued, the baby twisted out of his mother's grasp and slid to the floor, toddling towards it. James kept it a step out of reach every time… or at least, he tried. Harry fell over face first and landed on top of it, extinguishing it entirely.

Confused at where the light had gone and unhappy from his fall, Harry started fussing. James and Lily simultaneously crossed to him, but Lily reached him first, scooping him into her arms and hugging him to her chest. He quieted almost immediately.

James sighed. "Okay, it's my turn now. You've had him all day."

She smiled infuriatingly and hugged her son closer. "Yes, but that's because he won't go to you. He likes me better."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. "I like you better than he does."

Harry squawked a loud protest at being squashed between his parents and squirmed down, heading for his toy box. They smiled at their young son's antics, watching as he pulled out a ball that was bewitched to bounce, roll, and come back on its own. James pulled his wife over to the couch, where they sat and watched Harry play.

Later that night, Lily put a pot of water on the stove to boil for spaghetti. Harry played happily at her feet. James was in the other room, reading a book entitled Quidditch Through the Ages. He had read it his first year in Hogwarts and continued to read it at least once a year.

Lily poured the noodles in and turned the heat down. Picking Harry up, she took him into the other room and sat on her husband's outstretched legs. Harry crawled across James' stomach and tried get the book from him, and when his father tugged it out of his tiny hands, he began to wail angrily. James gave up and let him have the book, and Harry promptly proceeded to try to eat it.

Lily looked at her husband. "I forgot to get candy. The Muggle kids will be going Trick-or-Treating tonight."

"What's tonight?" James asked, coming out of his reverie.

"It's Halloween. All Hallows Eve. Día de los Muertos in Spanish, or if you prefer, the Irish say Oíche Shamhna."

"Show-off," James muttered good-naturedly, wincing as Harry tore a page out of the book and crammed it into his mouth.

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Lily tiptoed down the stairs, skipping the third from the bottom (it squeaked). James was playing Exploding Snap on the coffee table. He looked up as she entered. "Harry asleep?"

She nodded.

"It's about time. You're not very good at making him go to bed, are you?"

He was joking, but she found this a good excuse to bump the table as she walked past it. James' tower exploded, narrowly missing his eyebrows. "Thanks a lot," he grumbled, gathering up the scorched cards and beginning again.

Lily sat down beside him, curled up, and gazed at her husband. Words could give only an inadequate description of her feelings for him. He was as handsome and intelligent as he had been the first time they had kissed.

Once the cards had exploded for the fourth time, James gave up and peered through the curtains at the driveway.

Lily panicked when the blood drained out of her husband's face. She was already halfway up the stairs to her son's room by the time James had scrambled off the sofa and yelled, "Lily, take Harry and run! I'll hold him off!"

Lily knew what was happening, even though she hadn't seen what James had. Peter had betrayed them. _He_ was here.

"Lily, take Harry and run! I'll hold him off!" James shouted, but she was already up the stairs. James pulled out his wand and held it tightly, his hands shaking. He knew, as well as he knew who was walking up their driveway, that he would not live out the night. But he would go down fighting, trying to defend his wife and son.

He locked the door, knowing that it wouldn't be much of an obstacle for _him_, but every second he could stall his death was another second for Lily to find a way out. Casting a quick Imperturbable Charm on the door, he went through a mental list of every spell he knew, wondering how to exploit each to his advantage. He may not expect to live, but he was going to stay alive as long as possible.

The door crashed inwards, nearly crushing James. He sidestepped quickly, and then he looked up.

A tall hooded figure stood silhouetted by the full moon. James tightened his grip on his wand as the newcomer stepped over the threshold.

"James Potter," his voice was high, cold and menacing. "We meet at last."

"Aye, _my Lord_, that we do." James knew he sounded braver than he felt. That was a good thing. _Oh, Lily, please hurry. I can't last long._

"Are you read to die, Potter?" he asked softly. "Because you know you can't win."

James shrugged. "Maybe I can't. But I might just get lucky." _But I probably won't, Lily, so you have get out of here._

James knew that Voldemort wasn't about to follow the rules of a wizard's duel. Or maybe he would have. But James wasn't about to.

Without warning, a jet of red light shot out of his the wand that had been held at his side. Voldemort called "_Protego!_" and the spell bounced away from him.

"You want to fight then, Potter? Very well. I shall give you the fight of your life, or maybe of your death."

"Bold words, for one who has a chance of dying here along with me," James spat. _Go, Lily, go! Get Harry out of here!_

"But why are we even having this conversation, Potter? Let your wand do your talking."

James put up a shield just in time to block a red jet of light from Voldemort's wand. He sent back a Full-body-bind Curse. Not that a petty hex would stop a wizard as powerful as the one before him, but he hadn't exactly learned how to do the Unforgivable Curses in school. He knew that in order to perform one, he would have to mean it; he would have to _want_ to kill. James was almost positive that he couldn't do that.

"Dying nobly trying to save your precious family won't help, you know," he hissed.

James proved himself wrong. His heart burst with love for Lily and Harry, and he wanted nothing more than to save them. Still blocking the stairs, he shouted "Crucio!"

The bolt of light hit Voldemort in the side. James blessed his luck, but it didn't last long. He didn't have the power to hold it. His wand dropped.

Voldemort stood, panting slightly. "Is that the best you can do, Potter?"

"It was pretty good, if I do say so myself," James retorted, silently cursing his weakness.

"You are arrogant, boy. And for that, you deserve to die."

I love you, Lily. And Harry. Know that.

James wasn't ready for the force of the next spell. The green light shattered his shield and struck him squarely in the chest. His body crumpled and fell. James Potter was dead before he hit the ground.

Lily heard the footsteps on the stairs: slow, methodical, beating out a rhythm of impending doom. She was sobbing now, fumbling with the window latch, but it refused to budge. There was no way out. She knew James was dead; he would never have let Voldemort up here alive. Harry was whimpering in his crib. He knew that there was something wrong.

Oh, Harry, how can I tell you this? Your father's dead, and we're going to die, too, and I can't find any way out! Harry, I love you! How can I let you die like this?

She didn't say it, of course; Harry wouldn't be able to understand. Abandoning the window, she lifted her son into her trembling arms and held him close, breathing into the black hair he had inherited from his dad.

James, I'm so sorry. What can I do? You're gone now, and I have no way to save that which you died for.

She returned Harry to his crib and withdrew her wand just as a looming, cloaked figure rounded the corner into the room.

"Hello, Lily." His voice was high-pitched and cold, cold like steel or ice. Not like James' voice, so warm, so loving. _James, I failed you._

"We meet at last, face to face."

"You're going to kill me, so get on with it."

"There's no need for you to die, girl. I just want the baby."

_James, help me be strong!_

"Then take me, too. Don't kill Harry. Please, don't kill Harry."

"Stand aside, girl!" he spat.

How can I let you die, Harry, die like your father did trying to save you? Oh, please, James, help me…

"No." Her last word was cold and defiant. She was ready to die trying to save her son.

Harry, I love you. I'm coming James. And we can walk through the fields of eternity together.

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was a flash of blinding green light, which struck her in the stomach. Harry began crying as he watched his mother fall and the tall figure turn its wand on him.

James was dead, trying to buy time for his family. Lily was killed trying to save her son.

And Harry?

He survived.

Because of his father's strength, he grew up strong.

Because of his mother's love, he continued to breath.

Harry Potter. The boy who lived.


End file.
